


Boötes

by Enchantable



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Family Dynamics, Grief/Mourning, Hurt No Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-18 20:11:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19341772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enchantable/pseuds/Enchantable
Summary: “What? I can’t meet your mom?” Michael says, “I’m Michael. Got a name?”“Mara,” she says.Today’s a fucking rotten day.





	Boötes

**Author's Note:**

> Original Prompt: Can you write something where Jesse Manes has died and Alex has complex emotions about it? And Michael is there to support him.

Jesse Manes dies in his sleep.

Peacefully.

He just doesn’t wake up, an old man tucked into his bed. Michael knows he would have hated that but it’s not nearly as much satisfaction as he wants from the man’s death. Alex says it calmly, robotically even. Then the silence on the phone stretches into a painful awkwardness until Michael breaks.

“Why’re you telling me?” He asks finally.

“I figured you had a right to know,” Alex replies, “you should be safe now.”

“Wait!” Michael cries before he can hang up, “how are you?”

“Fine,” Alex says.

“Fine,” Michael repeats.

“That’s what I said,” Alex tells him flatly, “I’m not calling to discuss this, just to let you know.”

“Courtesy Call,” Michael says, “how procedural.”

“Have a good one Guerin,” Alex snaps and ends the call.

Michael buries his fingers in his curls and wonders how he’s managed to fuck it up all over again.

* * *

Alex’s not the only genius in town. Though genius is a stretch considering all it takes is google. He doesn’t show up precisely he just lingers. It’s the first time he’s seen the Manes family assembled like this since Alex’s grandfather died. Alex and his brothers all look good, though some of them look more upset than others. Flint and Alex look the least upset about what’s going on. Their wounds are the most raw. Alex walks forward and puts dirt in the grave with the rest of the family. His oldest brother accepts the flag. Then Michael realizes he’s not alone.

“So, you here to make sure he’s dead too?” The woman asks, blowing smoke into the air and surveying him.

“Kind of,” he says. His conflicts with Jesse Manes are a standing joke in this town. No-one knows the full extent, “you too?”

“I’m sure we’re not the only ones,” she says, “not that any of them will acknowledge it.”

“I guess no-one wants to rock the boat,” he says.

“Or they’re a bunch of cowards,” she offers. Michael grins. He likes her sarcasm, “but I don’t throw stones in my own glass house.”

“I guess you’ve got a chance to stop being one,” he says.

“You live here?,” she asks.

Michael nods. She nods back and grins, dropping her cigarette to the ground and crushing it under her toe.

“If he comes back, make sure he goes back in the grave,” she says, “preferably with a lot of violence. Think you can manage?”

“Not a problem,” he says, trying not to think hammers.

“Good boy,” she says and pats herself for her keys.

“Mom?”

They both stop and look over at Alex. Michael wants to kick himself for not recognizing that biting wit. Of course it was familiar. Next to being gay, the greatest sin Alex has ever committed is resembling his mom. Michael has never seen the woman before but it’s impossible not to see the connection. Alex looks much younger than he did a moment ago, much less closed off. The urge to move in front of him is overwhelming but Michael stops himself. Surely this is good. This woman can comfort Alex. Like a mom should. He wants to yell when he sees Alex’s features harden. Even before he sees the way the woman is shifting into an almost mirrored stance.

“Hello Alex,” she says.

“Mom, what are you doing here?” He says, “we thought you weren’t coming.”

“I’m not here,” she tells him, “how do you two—“

“Don’t change the subject,” Alex cuts in, “you said you weren’t coming.”

“I changed my mind.”

Something about those four words almost sends Alex reeling like she’s slapped him. Alex hates him, that much Michael knows. But Alex’s hate is focused on the woman in front of him. His mom. The one who left him alone with a monster whose now being buried under heaps of dirt. The thing that stuns Michael is that the other brothers are saying things to the family and trading glances with each other, checking in on Alex, but no-one’s coming to help. Michael pushes aside the knot and puts on his best 2 am bad decision grin.

“I didn’t realize you were Alex’s mom,” he says and the tension shatters as they both look at him.

“That’d be me,” she says.

“Don’t start,” Alex warns.

“What? I can’t meet your mom?” Michael says, “I’m Michael. Got a name?”

“Mara,” she says.

Today’s a fucking rotten day.

* * *

 

He finds Alex later in the toolshed.

Apparently they both have a masochistic streak. After his mom drives off, Alex goes to the reception because that’s a thing you do at funerals. Michael doesn’t invite himself along. But he does come back, hours later and parks his car far away. He hoofs it to the house and slips into the toolshed. He’s amazed it’s still standing. He’s not surprised to see Alex inside of it. He’s got a beer in one hand, his jacket and tie are gone and his shirt sleeves are rolled up.

“It’s weird our moms have the same name,” he says, “I don’t think I knew your moms name.”

“What are you doing here?” Alex asks and the question is so honest, Michael finds himself reaching for the truth.

“I wanted to see if you were okay,” he says.

“I should be,” Alex says thoughtfully, leaning against the table, “he hated me.”

“Yeah,” Michael says, “but you didn’t hate him.”

Alex looks away.

It’s a dark secret. Alex’s put his desire for his father’s approval in a place Michael imagines will never see the light of day. It’s hard to love something that hates you. Michael’s got a list of that shit a mile long. More often than not he’s put Alex somewhere near the top of it. But his foster parents are there too, all of them. The Evans—its a long list. He gets the pain. But none of them have actually died yet. There’s that stupid, stupid spark of ignorant hope that maybe one day they’ll pull up and say they’re sorry. They didn’t mean it. And he’ll apologize for being so troublesome and angry. They’ll make up.

There’s no chance of reconciliation between Alex and his dad.

Maybe there never was, but now it’s definitely not going to happen. And even though objectively Michael hates the man with every fibre of his being, he’s sorry Alex has had another thing taken from him. Another hope crushed. He doesn’t think Jesse Manes was ever sorry for doing that. But standing in the toolshed Michael has more in common with the monster than he’s comfortable with. He pulls himself out of his train of thought and focuses back on Alex who straightens up.

“I need to get back there,” he says.

“You don’t,” Michael argues, “if you’re not ready.”

Wrong thing to say.

Alex shuts down immediately.

“I’ve wasted enough time out here,” he says. Which hurts a lot fucking more than Michael is expecting it to. He steps in front of the door and Alex looks at him sharply, “My f—“

“Your family?” Michael cuts in, “come on Alex, talk to me.”

“I  _don’t_  want to talk to you,” Alex says, Michael imagines the toolshed hasn’t heard this level of yelling in a solid fifteen years, “I called to let you know you were safe. Not for you to take this as some overture for us to make up.”

“That’s not fair—“ Michael starts.

“Life’s not fair,” Alex snaps.

“You think I don’t know that?!” Michael demands and Alex shuts up, “I didn’t know my mom and losing her messed me up,” he says, throwing the last two years under one messy overarching title, “I know you’re stronger but—“

“No,” Alex cuts in.

“No?” Michael can feel his throat tightening up with panic. It was stupid to come here. How far has he just set everything back? He forces himself not to dig into that loop and looks at Alex.

“There’s no but on that sentence. My father’s dead. My family needs me.”

Michael smacks his arm out and barricades the door. Alex can’t duck under it without risking his dignity. If he’s going down, Michael figures, he’s going down on his terms for once. Not the rules to the games that Alex comes up with. He never figures them out on time anyway. Alex is close and the light of the sunset makes him look chilling in this shed. Or maybe it’s just the memories of what’s gone down here. Or gone down between them.

“Look, I just want to talk. If you’ll let me—“ he’s not expecting Alex to laugh. It’s not a good laugh. Alex moves his arm aside.

“I don’t care what you want,” Alex tells him flatly and walks away, letting the last sight Michael has of him be the sight of him walking away.

* * *

 

He checks on Alex periodically because it’s the right thing to do.

Because Alex checked on him.

Long after he should have stopped Alex checked on him and so Michael bucks himself up and checks on Alex. What the hell’s he going to do at this point? Hurt their relationship? Alex won’t even be in the same room as him. Michael would love to blame it all on Jesse Manes but he’s played his part in it. He’s a big part of why Alex can’t look at him.

But hey an estate sale isn’t indoors.

Unsurprisingly it’s sparse pickings. Jesse Manes wasn’t a ‘stuff’ kind of guy. He’s surprised at how little any of them have taken. Then again, he’s really not if he thinks about it. Everything is well cared for and Michael, again, understands that way more than he wishes he did. If you can’t care for people without destroying them, if things are all you have, you take care of your shit a little better than most. He hears Alex see it’s him as he’s inspecting a bunch of tools and wondering if the hammer’s in there.

“What are you doing here?” He asks.

“Shopping,” Michael replies. Alex rolls his eyes.

“My dad’s shirts have their buttons on them,” he snaps.

“My shirts have their buttons. This is a fashion choice,” Michael shoots back.

“What do you want?” Alex questions, not in the mood. He can join the club.

“To see how you’re holding up.”

“I’m fine,” Alex says and Michael can’t tell if the lie is a better response than being told he doesn’t have the right to ask, “you can go.”

“No,” Michael says, “I’m shopping.”

He finds what he’s not looking for ten minutes later. Family photos aren’t something Michael’s ever had. The few pictures he has of him and his siblings as kids are ones he treasures. He walks over to where Alex is trying not to look like he’s crawling out of his skin and plots down the ten bucks for the priceless memories.

“Seriously?” Alex demands.

“Deadly,” Michael replies.

“Why?” Alex questions.

“What do you mean why? I want embarrassing photos of you, obviously,” Michael says. It’s only half a lie and he doesn’t feel that bad about it. Alex doesn’t stop him from buying the albums and Michael tries not to read into it. Instead he tucks them under his arm, “see you around,” he says.

Alex doesn’t say goodbye.

That night Michael drinks himself stupid and thumbs through the pictures of Alex, wondering how a kid manages to look so smart and annoyed and cheeky when he barely knows how to walk. But leave it to Alex to pull that off. He puts the albums with the rest of the photos he has on the now empty shelves. He doesn’t keep his space ship stuff here anymore and his nights aren’t spent drawing plans to return to the stars.

He just wishes that the place he wants to return to didn’t feel so unfathomably far away, again.


End file.
